


Put Your White Flag Down

by summerstorm



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Fingersucking, Hand Kink, M/M, Mouth Kink, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-06
Updated: 2010-06-06
Packaged: 2017-10-09 23:06:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/92577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerstorm/pseuds/summerstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/aianonlovefest/6425.html?thread=6234649#t6234649">this prompt</a> at <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/aianonlovefest">aianonlovefest</a> — in a nutshell, this is finger-sucking PWP. There's really not a lot more to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put Your White Flag Down

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Madeline Adams's "White Flag."

There's a big problem David keeps going back to and obsessing over about dating someone so much older than you—not, like, middle-aged, David wouldn't do that, gosh, but eight years is still kind of a lot, and he's not even sure what he's doing here, with Cook, only that it's maybe not so much dating as just hanging out as friends and then, sort of, like, hooking up? Except it's not really even that because all they've done is _kiss_ and the last time they did that Cook untucked David's shirt from his pants and put his hands on David's bare waist and David kind of, um, bolted.

Cook called the next morning to make sure he hadn't crossed any unforgivable lines and David could get half an apology out before Cook was saying, "No, hey, you didn't do anything wrong, I should have given you some kind of warning," and, "I have a thing tonight, but you're still here tomorrow, right? You should come by. I promise I'll keep my hands to myself this time," and David nodded for a long while before he remembered he was supposed to _say_ something instead of go over how awkward the night before had been again in his head.

So maybe it _is_ dating, because otherwise it would be a one-night-stand in, like, chapters, and spanning more than one night, and it would imply all the times they've just made out on Cook's couch or in the back of a cab were cut short and like, left on a cliffhanger, and David's never felt like that.

But the problem is, what if—what if _Cook_ feels like that? Because Cook is older and more experienced and he's had so many girlfriends and—and boyfriends, probably, too, and—to him hooking up means _sex_, not just kissing for hours and holding hands like you do in high school, and it's really nice of him to reassure David over and over that it's fine to go slow and that he shouldn't feel pressured to do anything he doesn't feel undoubtably ready to do, but it would be easier if—

"You know," Cook says, "we _can_ go slow by taking it one step at a time. We can do hands," and there are big hands crinkling his t-shirt over his back and around his sides and they're so warm even through the fabric, firm and determined and pressing down into spots David had never been this aware of before, and a shy moan makes its way through his throat somehow. He'd feel embarrassed if he wasn't so distracted by Cook's mouth on his ear, his tongue tracing the shape of it and his lips tugging at the lobe. "And we can do mouths," and David can't even—he can't _process_ it.

It would be easier if Cook didn't do things like that, and if he didn't _say_ those things, too, right into his ear while David's straddling him, if Cook didn't make him think about it. David can't really tell him not to say anything, because if they both clam up and don't talk about it then they're _never_ going to get there, and because David likes how honest Cook is and the idea of that changing is—wow, it's even scarier than things going too fast—but Cook's voice sounds so growly and raw and desperate it makes _David_ feel that way, and then he feels guilty for not giving Cook what he wants at the same as he feels guilty for _wanting_ to, and it's just a big mess of—guilt and affection and, um, hormones, or whatever. It feels like he's going crazy and he doesn't know what part of it all is going to pull him under.

"Hey," Cook says, and David has to clear his throat before he can answer, "What?" and it must be really funny or something because then Cook's laughing and somehow David finds himself laughing too, feeling a lot of the unwanted tension leave him as Cook kisses him and releases one side of David's waist to grab his hand. "Hands," Cook says, softer, stroking David's knuckles with his thumb, "I didn't say they had to go into anyone's pants. I just said hands," and David feels a rush of heat crawl over his face—of course Cook was _implying_ that, and David knows better than to think he can outpervert _any_one, but it's still a little embarrassing, feeling like his mind went someplace it didn't _have_ to go, because it's not supposed to—he's not supposed to be wired like that.

Before he can stop himself, he blurts out, "Did you, uh—what did you mean about—about mouths?" because he just looked down and there's a really obvious bulge on the front of Cook's jeans, and Cook's touching his hand, and David's having trouble not touching Cook _there_, now. Not that—not that he thinks Cook would complain, but it would just be awkward. And—and not good.

"What did you want me to mean by it?" Cook says. He's tracing patterns over David's palm and massaging the bottom of it, the inside of his wrist, and it's making him feel things he didn't even know his hands _could_ feel.

"Kissing?" David says, because—well, that's the obvious option that's not, like, dirty.

Cook laughs, but it's restrained, not as amused as before. "Kissing what?"

"Oh, gosh, not _that_. Why would you—" David says, feeling his cheeks flare up.

"Whoa, wait," Cook says, and David's scared he's going to pull the get-your-mind-out-of-the-gutter card again, because Cook likes to watch him squirm, and wow, okay, maybe he really needs to stop thinking about that. "You don't have anything against blowjobs, do you? I get not wanting them to happen now, but if you're morally opposed to having your dick sucked, we're gonna have to deal with some conflict of interests."

"I'm not—" David denies, stupidly, then admits, "Well, yes. It's—humiliating. You just make someone—_take_ you in their—in their _mouth_, it's—"

_Wrong_, he's trying to say, but Cook interrupts him. "I don't know what you've been told about oral sex, but it doesn't involve forcing the other person to do it," Cook says, seriously, "unless they're into that."

"But it's not—" David begins, then realizes Cook probably doesn't feel the same way about it at all, but he still says, "It's not made for, um, licking?"

"I don't think it's an issue of what _it_ is made for," Cook says. David catches a hint of an amused smile before Cook's other hand leaves his waist and wraps around his wrist, and he lifts David's hand to his _mouth_. "Would you say your fingers are made for this," he says, the questioning tone vanishing halfway through, and then Cook's holding David's forefinger against his chin and opening his lips around it then closing them around his second knuckle, and it's—oh gosh, he's _sucking_ on it.

David wants to answer the question—_no_, they're definitely _not_ there for that purpose—but Cook's eyes are closed like he's really enjoying having David's finger in his mouth and it's just his hand anyway and it feels kind of, um, really good, so good David's—he realizes with a start he's getting _hard_, and there's no inconspicuous way to cover it up right now, and the words part of the situation totally flies over his head.

When Cook pulls back, his mouth is all wet and slick and his lips are swelling a little and his eyes open up and meet David's, and suddenly David feels tongue-tied and bites his lip and he must look totally dumb right now, but Cook just takes a deep, loud breath and slides David's index and middle fingers into his mouth. It's like he doesn't find it embarrassing at all, like it's totally normal and right to—he doesn't even have a word for it—to _blow_ someone's fingers like that.

It builds and builds in David's belly, this awesome pressure that he thinks he shouldn't feel from _this_, and there's a moment where Cook leaves his mouth half open and David can see his tongue move around his thumb and his lips are so pink and wet David pushes his thumb in until Cook wraps his lips tight around it and sucks on it, and he seems so on board with it David sort of—experimentally pulls it almost all the way out, and then in again, and it's like he's—fucking Cook's mouth with his thumb, oh gosh.

It gets really sloppy after a while, with Cook sneaking glances at David's face and dragging his teeth over David's palm then going back up to suck on his fingers like he can't decide what he wants to do most, and then there's a whine and David realizes it's _him_, and it's him who's breathing like he's been running for miles, and before he can talk himself back down, he's coming in his pants, and it's maybe the most embarrassing, awkward moment of his _life_. Cook totally notices, _watches_ David's come seep through the fabric and David's going to need new pants, he can't go home like this—and Cook's still looking down and he swallows saliva around his fingers before letting go of them and oh, gosh, does that mean what David thinks it—is Cook thinking about swallowing his—

"See, oral sex," Cook says, voice rough, cutting off his train of thought, "totally not the devil."

"I didn't say—" David tries.

"Or degrading, or anything you think it is. Anything I just did to your fingers, you can bet I'd be glad to do to your—"

"Okay!" David interrupts. "Fine. I get it. You like—" He makes a vague hand gesture that's not really anything other than _you know what I mean_, because David's not about to make any gestures that look like—sexual acts, or whatever. That would be really weird.

"I definitely like," Cook says, and it's Cook, and Cook's always so—polite even when he's being everything but that David has to admit—at least to himself—he has a good point.

David looks down between them—Cook's still hard, and it seems wrong that he came and Cook didn't, so he says, "Do you need, um—" and breathes in relief when Cook shakes his head.

"It's fine," he reassures David, "that's not what this was about," and it's obviously not fine, but David doesn't think he can do anything about it right now, and at least Cook's aware of that.

"Maybe—maybe next time?" David offers, and Cook just laughs and goes off to get him some new underwear.


End file.
